The Bittersweet Taste of Betrayal
by NightOwl22
Summary: S.I.10's latest case was an undeniable success. But to Detective Sergeant Harriet Makepeace the job had taken a bigger toll than she'd expected. As a result, she had done something unforgivable, and it had put her partner, Lieutenant James Dempsey, in a very difficult position.
1. A Toast to the Past

_Part I: A toast to the past  
_

She had been working on a financial fraud report all day. It was due Friday and she was on a time crunch. Her mind was in a fog, unable to put abstract matters into coherent thought, so when the doorbell rang she almost sighed with relief. The report could wait after all. Joyce Hargreaves rolled her wheelchair down the corridor and, when she opened the door, her face brightened.

"What are you doing here?" she smiled looking into the serene blue eyes of her colleague. "I figured you'd be celebrating Bennet's arrest at the _Lamb & Flag_ with the rest of the team."

Harriet Makepeace curled her lips into a tepid smile. She was a stunning blonde, who never in a million years would pass as a shrewd Detective Sergeant of an elite division in Britain's police force, and yet was the best cop Joyce had ever encountered. She was holding a bottle of Dom Perignon in her right hand, which she lifted, raising her eyebrows as if to answer 'hence the champagne' to Joyce's light-hearted question.

Joyce wheeled her chair sideways to grant her access. It was getting easier to get around in that contraption, but she hit the proverbial road bumps on occasion. Still, she was resilient and determined to regain some of her independence. But most of all, she refused to let the long, gruelling hours she had spent going to psycho-physical therapy last year be a waste. The accident had already cost her a husband and a career as a field agent with S.I.10, she'd be damned if she lost her dignity as well. No, she would make the best of an unfortunate situation.

"Your partner must be over the moon," she said, pulling two crystal flutes from a low level cupboard. "I hear it was quite an arrest."

"That it was," Harry said with cool indifference.

Joyce picked up on her friend's blasé attitude, strange considering the magnitude of the case, but chose not to comment on it, keeping the conversation light. "What has it been… over five years the agency has had its eye on the infamous Andrew Bennet?"

"Interpol has been on his tail since the late 1970s."

"I know," Joyce nodded. "I worked on some transcripts a few years back that placed him in the U.S.S.R near the Afghani border. They lost track of him after that. He was absolutely ruthless. What was he doing in London anyway?"

"That was our doing," Makepeace replied. "We spun a web of lies and he fell right into our trap. Not an easy feat to set up, but it paid off in the end."

"I daresay it's probably the catch of the decade!" Joyce chortled, wanting to hear more about the case. "He's certainly one of the most dangerous arms dealers on this side of the Atlantic."

"Well, not anymore." Harry's tone was clipped. "With Bennet and two of his top aides behind bars his international operation is likely to crumble like a deck of cards. I trust the trial will be quite straight forward given the mountain of evidence we've presented."

"Congratulations on a job well done, Detective Sergeant Makepeace!" Joyce bowed her head with a great deal of respect and admiration towards her colleague. "Let's toast to that!"

Harry lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug and proceeded to open the bottle, wincing momentarily as the cork was released with a loud 'pop'. "Perhaps. But I'd rather toast to your fifteenth year anniversary with the force," she said, filling one of the flutes and offering it to Joyce.

"That's very kind of you." Joyce thanked her with a faint nod and took a dainty sip. "Does that mean you won't be coming to the official party next week?"

"Of course I will!" Harry assured her. She took a seat on the leather sofa, her elegant movements a clear testament to her impeccable upbringing. "The question is, how do _you_ know about it? It was supposed to be a surprise."

Joyce smiled enigmatically. "Oh, Harry… You give me too little credit. Not only do I know about that. I also sense there is something else on your mind besides the success on the Bennet case and my not-so-secret anniversary party."

"What makes you think that?" Harry smirked, breaking eye contact.

"Because I've seen you pop open a bottle of this particular brand only on two other occasions, and both of those had to do with a life altering event."

"How very observant," Harry quipped.

"Yes, I would've made a great S.I.10 detective," Joyce half joked. "So, tell me, Harriet. What's troubling you?"

There was a brief silence. Long enough for the clock on the wall to announce it was quarter to eight, and long enough to erase any chance for a denial. But Harry tried anyway.

"What do you mean?" she asked through a short, sullen chuckle.

Joyce clicked her tongue making a rhythmic sound that spoke volumes. She carefully placed the crystal flute on the coffee table, lifting her eyes to Harry with a 'cut the pretence' glance.

"We've always confided in each other," Joyce began, "ever since the day you joined the force as a green, uniformed policewoman at Snow Hill. I took you under my wing then, and showed you how to be taken seriously in a male oriented job."

"I remember. The first few weeks were plain awful," Harry stated shaking her head. "Men can be pigs!"

"Well, we found the perfect formula to thwart all the disgusting innuendos and stop the unwanted harassment in its tracks, didn't we?"

"A sweet smile and a sarcastic remark," Harry grinned. "It does work on most men."

"On most?"

"Yes, apparently American cowboys are cut from a different cloth," Harry pulled a face, denoting utmost aggravation. "Dempsey is not only immune to those, but seems to thrive on the challenge."

"Oh, I think you handle him quite well," Joyce chuckled. "He is a man, after all. Most men don't have a clue what it is like to be a woman in the force. They either dismiss us completely or are so overprotective, working with them becomes unbearable!"

A shadow of something unidentifiable flickered across Harry's eyes, fast as lightning. Still, it was noticeable enough for Joyce to pick up on it.

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," Harry dismissed twirling the stem of her flute distractedly.

But Joyce wasn't about to let her get away with her usual elusiveness. She raised an inquiring eyebrow and prompted a more elaborate answer through a very poignant silence.

"It's… complicated," Harry finally admitted.

"Complicated," Joyce parroted with a soft chuckle. "This has 'Dempsey' written all over it."

When she failed to make eye contact with Harry, she relaxed against the backrest of her chair and took a small sip of champagne. And, just as she had anticipated, Harry caved under the pressure of another prolonged silence.

"I just don't feel like celebrating _this_ particular case," she frowned. "It was gruelling and exhausting. I can't even tell you how many sleepless nights we have spent on endless stakeouts, working undercover, tracking suspects, dealing with uncooperative informants…" Harry exhaled, looking overly tired and worn all of a sudden. "And, yes, it has paid off in the end. But we also got lucky. Last night's operation could've been a complete disaster."

"This line of work is like that," Joyce shrugged. "There are never any guarantees."

"I'm well aware of that, but…"

Harry exhaled, her furrowed brow becoming more pronounced. It wasn't like her to back down from taking chances in her line of work. In fact, she had become bolder, had been taking bigger risks ever since she had been paired with her American partner. And the results had been staggering.

"But what?" Joyce encouraged.

"Why does every case have to end up in a bloody war zone?!" Annoyance had found its way into Harry's tone. "He just runs off, takes matters into his own hands and damn the consequences!"

"Ah…" Joyce nodded in understanding. "So it _is_ about Dempsey!"

"He's just so… so… _self-absorbed_!"

"That is part of his reputation."

"And what about _my_ reputation!" Harry shot back.

Joyce was taken aback by the anger in her colleague's voice, so she began to tread carefully. "You said it yourself, Harry. He doesn't work like us, or think like us. Except last time we talked about this, you sold it to me as a positive."

"It is!" Harry then backpedalled, "It _can_ be."

"So what has changed?" A sudden thought seeped into Joyce's brain. "You're not thinking about quitting again, are you?"

"No." Harry bit her lower lip, deep in thought.

"You can always put in a request for a different partner," Joyce said, believing it not to be that great of a suggestion. "Except, one, you already tried that a while back, and two, you seemed to paint him as the perfect partner not so long ago."

"I know," Harry conceded quietly. She set her jaw, eyes fixed somewhere on the coffee table, her mind far away. "I need your advice on something. I don't know who else to turn to."

There was trepidation laced in those words, something completely foreign to Harriet Makepeace's usual demeanour. Joyce leaned forward on the chair, eyebrows creased. "Of course, darling. I'm here for you. Whatever you need."

A sad smile made its way to Harry's face and disappeared almost as fast as it had formed.

"I don't think he's ever going to forgive me."

 **Nice to see this site is still active and full of fanfic. Nice to see also the standards of the stories are still very high. :-)**


	2. The Pen's Might

Hello everyone! Thanks for all the feedback! It is nice to be back. I'll try to post one chapter per week, but we'll see how that goes. In the meantime, I'll leave you with the second part. Enjoy and drop me a line if you like it. ;-)

 _Part 2: The Pen's Might_

Earlier that afternoon

Harry was rubbing a towel over her wet hair when she heard the doorbell. She groaned, not really in the mood to receive visitors at the moment. Throwing the towel on top of the sink, she ran her fingers through the damp strands in an artless attempt to style it. The long shower had eased the tension of the past several hours to some degree, but her nerves were still frazzled and she was starting to feel the unmistakeable signs of adrenal fatigue. The buzzer kept ringing impatiently as Harry rushed down the stairs. She cinched the belt of her expensive silk robe with an angry tug, mumbling under her breath that she was on her way.

When she finally peeked through the semi opened door, she found a very pissed off Dempsey standing on the other side. An icy cold snake slithered slowly up Harry's spine. She was considering sending him away, when her partner pushed the door in rather violently, forcing her to take a couple of unsteady steps back as he walked past her with a determined stride. Before she knew it, he was in the foyer towering over her, his expression sour.

"What kinda sick game you playin' at, ha?" he barked.

Harry prudishly wrapped the robe tighter around her body feeling quite naked under the sheer fabric all of a sudden. In an absurd gesture, she tried to close the mild cleavage of the garment by clasping her hand around both lapels.

But Dempsey didn't seem to notice her attire—or her fidgeting—in the slightest. His eyes were pinning her to the spot. They were bloodshot, whether it was from anger or exhaustion Harry couldn't tell. The left side of his face had visible lacerations and was beginning to show the first signs of deep bruising under a noticeable five o'clock shadow. His left arm was loosely nestled in a sling. The purplish rings under his eyes made him look just as tired as she felt. But that was not surprising given the events that had taken place in the last 48 hours.

Harry's eyes travelled to his right hand, which had a tight clutch on an official S.I.10 form she instantly recognized. He'd obviously talked the emergency medics at the scene out of taking him to hospital and had gone to the factory instead. Judging by his attire and overall ragged appearance he hadn't even bothered to go home first. Harry had hoped he'd at least waited until Monday to stop by the office. Spikings had given them the rest of the week off, after all…

But he was here now, and everything was happening a lot faster than she had expected. _Damn his workaholic ways!_

"Shouldn't you be in hospital, Dempsey?" she asked, her voice colder than she had intended.

"Oh, you was countin' on that, right?" he snarled glaring at her. "Maybe I _should_ go, so they can pull the damn knife you used ta stab me out of my back!"

Harry lifted her chin to look at him square in the eyes. Her defiance was tangled in a web of caution. She'd experienced the wide spectrum of his anger in all of its stages before. Dempsey was, indeed, the most intense person she had ever met—trait that she attributed to his gaudy "yankeeness". It both fascinated and rubbed her up the wrong way. She supposed her aristocratic demeanour had a similar effect on him, and that gave her a certain degree of satisfaction. To top it off, they both had a special knack for getting on each other's nerves, which more often than not just helped add fuel to the fire. Still, there had always been a faint silver lining at the end of every one of their spats, no matter how ugly those got.

Now their quarrels were fewer and far apart, but that wasn't the case when they first started working together. She supposed their turbulent partnership had led to a friendship based on mutual respect. It had taken a fair share of horrid clashes and more than a few headaches, but as time went by they had certainly developed a special bond.

As Dempsey stood now in the middle of the entrance hall, eyes boring into her and shaking with rage, Harry saw no trace of a silver lining. The respect she had earned over the years had probably gone out the window as well.

"I was in the middle of something, so please make it quick," she said curtly.

"I bet ya say that to all the guys," he hissed without a trace of humour. "Just 'fore you screw them over. Right, Makepeace?"

Harry's arms were now folded over her chest in a subconscious attempt to shield herself from his aura of hurt and indignation.

"If you're referring to that," she said, making a small gesture with her head towards the wrinkled paper in his hand, "there's no need to be so dramatic."

" _Dramatic?!_ " he spat with disgust. "You're really somethin' y'know that?" He tightened the grip of his right hand whilst his left one twitched shut and then opened again, his body taut with tension. The S.I.10 form was clearly suffering the wrath of his fist.

" _Jesus Christ!_ "

Harry flinched inwardly startled by the thunderous curse. His New York accent was noticeably more pronounced, making the social gap between them even wider.

"It's merely a recommendation, Lieutenant," she said, purposely enhancing her British accent—whether as a weapon or as a shield, she couldn't be sure. "It is Spikings who has the final word on this."

Dempsey's scowl deepened. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. Oblivious to the sling, he raked his left hand through his hair like he always did when he became riled up. It made him wince and he clenched his jaw momentarily.

"Spikings…" he half muttered, half growled letting out a long, shuddering breath in an obvious attempt to keep calm. "You know how he's gonna react to your… _recommendation_." He spoke the word with tangible disgust, biting back the obscenity that was right at the tip of his tongue.

"What exactly do you want me to do about it, Dempsey?" she asked, lifting her shoulders.

"Retract it, damn it!" he bellowed.

Once again, Harry cringed, except this time, she feared he might have noticed. His eyes searched hers trying to find an explanation for her actions in those icy blue depths. Makepeace, however, stood her ground. The question lingered between them like a ghost, cold and intangible.

"Why're you doin' this?" he finally asked.

Dempsey's disconcerted stare made Harry lower her head for the first time. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep up the argument. She needed him to leave. _Now!_

Dempsey swallowed hard, quoting the gist of their quarrel in a low, darkened voice.

"'…therefore it is my assessment," he sighed, reading the last line of the summary report she had redacted just a few hours ago, "'that Lieutenant James M. Dempsey is _unfit_ to continue performing his duties as a field agent. Signed, Detective Sergeant Harriet D. Makepeace.'"

She felt a stab in the pit of her stomach upon hearing him speak the words, but she kept her stoic mask in place. Her recommendation was completely justifiable given the circumstances.

"I ain't signin' this," he told her.

She didn't think he would, but standard procedure dictated that she presented him with the form so he could respond to the laundry list of reasons she had used as the basis for her valuation. To do that, he had no choice but to sign it. Harry simply nodded. It's not that she could put a gun to his head to make him sign the ruddy form. Besides, she didn't have the energy at the moment to persuade him.

Dempsey appeared calm now, but appearances could be deceiving.

"Harry... I can't be chained to a desk for the rest of my career. I _can't_. You _know_ that," he pleaded in a softer tone now. Her heart sank, but she gave nothing away. He took a step toward her with an imploring look in his eyes. "You gotta retract this 'fore it hits the Chief's desk tomorrow."

Harry fought the urge to bite her lower lip, or show any indication that her resolve was faltering. By some miracle, she managed to keep her voice steady.

"I'm sorry. I can't do that."

She watched Dempsey as he took a couple of steps back and away from her, his stare now a dark shade of cold steel, his face unreadable. Harry was so tense, if someone had tried to prick her with a needle at that precise moment, she doubted they could've broken the skin. She wanted to end this inevitable confrontation, but most of all she was desperate to escape the look of condemnation in his eyes. A look, she knew, would haunt her for a very long time.

"If there's nothing else I might do for you…" Harry let the words trail and held the door open for him.

Dempsey clenched his jaw, his breathing shallow and hot with rage. His expression was a rainbow of incredulity, anger, impotence and betrayal. The last one hit Harry square in the gut.

"So that's it," he uttered. "You ain't gonna change your mind 'bout this."

No answer came forth. Harry didn't trust her voice at that very moment to offer him one. She was surprised as it was to have maintained the courage to hold his stare.

"I never imagined you'd be such a backstabbing bitch, Makepeace," he spat in a low, dangerous voice. With those words, he stormed out of her place slamming the door behind him hard enough to make the wood panelling rattle.

Harry leaned back against the door, her tension morphing into a sickening feeling—a mixture of shame and self-loathing. She brought her arms up to hug herself and the thin robe slid down her shoulder. Absently, she slipped it back up, feeling even more naked on the inside.


	3. Sticks & Stones

_A special thanks to those of you who left a comment on this last part. Traffic stats have been down, so I had no other way of gauging if anybody was reading the story. I hope you guys still enjoy this next part._

* * *

 _Part 3: Sticks & Stones_

Agent Hargreaves's flat, later that evening.

Joyce regarded Harry evenly, but she was unable to hide the shock in her eyes.

"You deemed your partner 'unfit for active duty in the field'." She summarized Harry's account of what had brought her there. "But… _why_?"

"Why?" Harry repeated, her eyes widening. "Have you not heard about the latest stunt he pulled?"

Joyce nodded slowly, failing to understand Harry's outrage. Yes, she had heard about S.I.10's latest operation and the risks that it had entailed. Still, it didn't sound like something the American maverick hadn't pulled before. In fact, this type of shenanigans was almost expected of Dempsey now. Perhaps the collateral damage had been a bit excessive on this last case, but there had been very few casualties considering the scope of the structural damage, and none of those had been civilians or agency operatives. In Joyce's estimation, the results far outweighed the hefty dent in the city's budget. What was undeniable was the rate of success every time Dempsey and Harriet were called into a case, which made her colleague's decision even harder to comprehend.

"I fail to see the problem," Joyce reasoned. "Did he behave unethically or illegally in any way?"

"We're talking about Dempsey!" Harry huffed. "Of course he did!"

"Is that why you have recommended his suspension from field duty?"

Harry frowned, looking intently through the tiny, golden bubbles spritzing inside her almost empty glass. Joyce respected her introspection, refilling their flutes to sift through the heavy silence that ensued.

"Where do you two stand on a personal level?" Joyce asked after a while, knowingly venturing into murky waters.

"What do you mean?"

"Things have always been a bit… let's say, _peculiar_ , between you two. It's no secret. I'm sure you're aware that people talk. Too much, in my opinion, but the topic is a favourite one around the office."

"I don't give much credence to rumours," Harry said, although judging by her expression, she was clearly bothered by them.

"I don't either. And knowing you, I find most of them hard to believe," Joyce searched Harry's eyes for some sort of unspoken confirmation.

Yes, she had heard the gossip repeatedly. One rumour always more outrageous than the next. Although Joyce doubted a consummate professional such as Makepeace would ever submit to the type of raunchy behaviour people whispered about at the water fountain. Her American partner on the other hand…

"What exactly are you asking me, Joyce? Are you asking if I had wild sex with my partner in the backseat of a police car?" Harry scorned with no small amount of indignation. "Or if I engaged in any of the even more _deplorable_ behaviour some people, who by the way should have their minds fished right out of the sewer, keep gossiping about?"

So she _had_ heard the various rumours.

"That's preposterous!" Joyce placated. "I know you'd never—"

"That's right, I wouldn't!" Harry shot back, her fury clearly reflected in the blue depth of her eyes. "And neither would Dempsey, for that matter!"

Joyce wasn't so sure about the latter. Still, Harry's outrage was completely justified under the circumstances, so she apologized. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"I'm actually quite tired of all the whispered chit-chat around the office, so just _please_ …" Harry closed her eyes and started rubbing her temples as if to ward off a headache. "Don't feed the mill."

"I wouldn't do that," Joyce assured her. "Harriet, you know me. You know I'd never pry into your personal affairs. I'm just concerned about you. And the last time we talked about your partner you were a bit more candid about your feelings for him. Has something changed?"

Harry's glance scurried down to the coffee table. It was clearly uncomfortable for the cool and reserved Harriet Makepeace to talk about her feelings. Especially when her partner was invoked. After all, despite all the recent rumours, she had built a reputation for keeping a strictly professional demeanour at the office. Many of her colleagues had tried to get her into bed, and just as many had failed. Her track record had remained intact over the years regardless of the long list of hopefuls.

But then James Dempsey came along, and the office gossip spread like wild fire. There was a special type of chemistry between them. It was undeniable. And whether they realized it or not, they both oozed sexual tension in each other's presence. Even Chief Superintendent Spikings appeared hesitant to walk into a room unannounced when Makepeace was alone with her partner working on a case, or otherwise discussing non work related matters. Harry herself had joked about it on occasion making light of the situation. Fortunately, their boss was a very discreet man when it came to their subordinates' personal lives.

But even Joyce wasn't sure where her protégé stood anymore. She suspected the relationship between Harriet and the American remained platonic, but had never seen her colleague so shaken by a man before, and that made her both worried and curious.

"Nothing has changed," Harry mumbled at last.

Joyce let out a pensive "hum", and observed the expression in Harry's face intensify by her reaction.

"Dempsey and I are just partners, Joyce," she assured with a firm nod of the head. "And perhaps good friends… or _were_ , until it all went to hell during this last bloody case."

There had been a tangible sadness in Harry's voice that she attempted to quench by downing what was left of champagne inside her flute. She sighed, visibly tired, but didn't give anything else away. It was classic Harriet Makepeace: bury the emotional turmoil deep within so long as her stiff British upper lip remained intact. It was programmed into her noble bloodline. Joyce could imagine what Dempsey had to put up with at times, and even felt a twinge of sympathy towards the yank.

"Have you tried talking with him?" Joyce sighed.

"About what?" Harry frowned. "About his need to blow things up every time he gets a chance? About his total disregard for authority and the chain of command? Or, maybe, I should talk to him about how his behaviour has repercussions on those around him, and how _my_ reputation has been repeatedly tarnished by his actions! I could talk to him about that!"

"But your success record—"

"Means nothing if you don't follow procedure!" Harry cut in angrily. "People who constantly disregard the rules hardly fit the bill for a promotion!"

Joyce was stunned into silence. Was _that_ the reason she had filed the charges against her partner? Because she felt like he was holding her back? It didn't sound _at all_ like her friend, and yet…

"When you said Dempsey was furious, I figured it would be one of his tantrums about some aspect of the case that hadn't gone his way, but this…"

"Things just need time to cool off," Harry mumbled trying to sound convincing.

"Cool off…" Joyce was at a loss for words. Was Makepeace not aware of the repercussions of her decision? It sounded like she just expected things to blow over after a while and everything would go back to normal.

"Look, the best thing I can do right now is to give him some space," Harry reasoned. "I know Dempsey. He's not going to go down without a fight. Now the reasons I've presented to Spikings are quite compelling, but he does have statistics on his side, and I know how the boss uses our success as leverage to get the Commissioner to increase funding for our unit. What I need to do is prove to Spikings that—"

"Are you listening to yourself?!" Joyce cut in, fixing her eyes on Harry's. "I cannot believe you'd be willing to wage a full-fledged war against your partner to further your career, Harriet. That is just… not like you! Seriously, _what_ is going on?!"

Harry broke eye contact and remained silent. It was obvious she did not like the direction the conversation had taken.

"Have you even given him an explanation?"

"He's read the report." Harry's answer was clipped.

"I'm not talking about the long list of codswallop you included in the report. Does he even know _why_ you are throwing him under the bus?"

Harry quickly turned on the sofa to retort, "Do you really believe I'm doing this out of spite? I am not doing this to…"

But Joyce's no nonsense glance stopped her mid-sentence.

"Think about it, Harry. Does he really deserve to be grounded for doing things his way? You gave him credit for it once, in a very passionate way if I remember correctly. Now you just want to punish him for it! And for rather self-serving reasons."

"I can't believe you're taking _his_ side on this!"

"Well, he did bring me fake flowers while I was in hospital," Joyce joked. When she failed to pull even the tiniest smile from Harry, she added, "I'm not taking his side. I'm not taking any sides. I just think you're not being completely honest with me. Or with Dempsey, for that matter. You're not even being honest with _yourself_."

Harry ran a hand through her hair and set her lips in a thin line.

"My decision is final, Joyce."

"Fine," the older woman sighed. "But, consider this… How long do you think it's going to be before he gets fed up with a desk job and asks to be transferred back to New York?"

Harry looked pensive for a moment, then answered in a faint voice. "If that's what he wants to do, then I wouldn't stop him."

Joyce shook her head from side to side slowly. Harry's stubbornness sometimes knew no boundaries.

"The real question is," Joyce said quietly, "how are you going to feel when it finally sinks in that it was _you_ who pushed him away?"

 **(TBC...)**


	4. Of Love and Strife

_Happy Thursday! Well, you guys seem to know the character of Makepeace all too well. ;-) Thanks for all the feedback on the story so far. I enjoyed your clever observations. It makes the process of writing fanfic all the more enjoyable._

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 _Part 4: Of Love and Strife_

SI10 Headquarters. Late at night.

Harry had managed to avoid celebrating the closing of the case with the team, but she had still bumped into a couple of her colleagues in the corridor as they made their way out the now empty building. The truth of the matter was that the more people congratulated her on a job well done, the more she felt like crawling under her desk until the next big case pulled everybody's attention from this last one. She had reluctantly dragged her feet to the office with only one goal in mind: to finish the bloody case report so Spikings could have it on his desk first thing in the morning. She had plans to spend the rest of the week with her father at Winfield Hall. The fresh air of the countryside would help her unwind and clear her mind—she was long due for a holiday.

There was an eerie silence at the office at that time of the night. Only the occasional car could be heard driving past the industrial area near east London where S.I.10's headquarters was located. She had made sure to swing by the factory late at night to avoid running into Dempsey. It was obvious their working relationship, let alone their friendship, treaded on perilous grounds.

She sat at her desk pushing away a wave of regret, and began typing a series of empty words on her electric typewriter. Her mind, however, couldn't help but drift to the early hours of that morning. Harry had been trying to bury the memories of what had happened in a dark corner of her brain, but her treacherous mind was too exhausted to subdue them any longer, and the images bubbled up to the surface, uninvited, unstoppable...

 _The heat of the explosion, its violent shockwave, the scorching fire that engulfed the building, the flying debris, the high-pitched ringing in her ears... The smell of death and destruction… Dempsey emerging from the dusty cloud after several heart wrenching moments, revving the heavy motorcycle to the max, and speeding away in the nick of time on its hind wheel..._

It all kept re-playing in her mind in slow motion, like a movie reel.

An angry tap to the return button brought her back to the present where she was determined to stay until the report was finished. She had managed to keep that promise almost to the signature line, when the door to the office creaked open, prompting her to lift her eyes from the machine and turn around.

Dempsey stopped in his tracks, obviously surprised to see her there at such late hour, but quickly masked his shock with a mild frown. The wounds and bruises were more pronounced now, mapping the left side of his face with the evidence of his recklessness. At least he looked a bit less worn-down than when she'd seen him earlier—the small miracle of a hot shower and a good shave, she supposed. Although they both needed several nights of quality rest before the stress of the day could remotely be washed away. Harry felt another sudden jolt at the base of her spine that spread all the way to her fingertips.

Neither of them said a word. _Not that there is anything left to say_ , Harry concluded, turning back to her report. Dempsey simply walked past her on his way to his own desk, placed his jacket over his swivel chair, and began shuffling through the stack of unorganized papers that had taken permanent residency all over his workstation. Harry noticed a small wince when he tried to use his left arm to shove around a set of manila folders, saw how his right hand reflexively flew to his left shoulder in an attempt to stop the discomfort.

"Can I help you find something?" she forced herself to ask, her voice pure honey.

"How 'bout a new partner," he answered through gritted teeth. He kept digging in the pile of files without even bothering to look at her. "Oh, right… desk detectives don't need no partners."

"If you're trying to make me feel guilty about something, it is not going to work," she lied.

He let out a short, humourless laugh, his attention still focused on the mess on his desk. "Yeah, didn't really expect any different from the Arctic Queen."

"I'm done here," Harry informed standing up and yanking the paper from the typewriter. "I'm going to need you to sign this. It's the summary report on the Bennet case. Or, you could, of course, file your own."

Dempsey harshly snatched the sheet of paper she had extended to him and mumbled a nasty curse when he realized that the pen he was wielding had no ink left. Harry offered him another one, but he ignored her gesture and signed the form with a chewed up red Bic he found on the far corner of his desk. Spikings hated it when he used red ink for signatures, giving him an extra incentive to use that particular pen.

"Don't you want to read it first?" Harry asked.

"I'm sure you was really thorough," he deadpanned. He fixed a hard stare upon her, and snarled, "Somthin' else you want me ta sign?"

Harry nodded slowly, trying not to fold under the intensity of his gaze, and realized it was now or never.

"If you would be so kind," she said, presenting him with a clean copy of her recommendation to Spikings. "It doesn't mean you agree with it, it's merely an acknowledgement that you've recei—"

"I know what it is!" he growled.

He almost tore the form when he snatched it out of her hand, dropping it onto his desk without bothering to look at it. They both held each other's fierce stare for a long, endless moment, both way too proud to break eye contact. It was Dempsey who finally lowered his eyes to the piece of paper that had ripped their partnership to shreds.

"Guess this is it…" he muttered, defeat seeping into his tone. He took in a deep, calming breath and bent down over his desk to sign it. The sound of the pen sliding across the paper echoed of unadulterated betrayal to Harry's ears. But it was the alternative she couldn't stand to live with.

"Do you want me to make you a copy?" she asked, trying her best to sound casual.

Dempsey was still bending over the form. He let out a short chuckle that dripped with contempt and glanced up at her with a look that screamed 'why don't you rub some salt into the wound while you're at it', but did not answer her question. His silence said it all as he handed her the signed form. She only hoped he didn't notice her shaking hand as she took the paper from him.

"Wow…" he said through a sad, lopsided grin. "You really must hate my guts, Sergeant."

Harry's heart did a quick summersault.

"You don't understand…" she spoke quietly.

"No, I guess I don't."

"We didn't have the go ahead to—"

"Save your petty excuses for the boss, Harry," he drawled, not interested in her feeble explanations in the slightest. "I'll respond to those ridiculous allegations in a week. In the meantime, you got what you wanted, sweetheart. I signed the fucking form. _Score!_ "

Dempsey picked up his jacket from the backrest of the swivel chair and swung it over his right shoulder. He made his way around her desk without sparing a glance in her direction. Harry knew she had no right to feel gored by his indifference, but the ache deep inside her chest was quite real. She followed his movements all the way to the door until his form began to blur through sudden tears.

 _Let him go! Let him go! Let him go!_

"Yes," she whispered against her better judgement, "I scored, indeed." And before regret could take a hold of what she was saying, the words spilled out on their own accord, her defences down from sheer exhaustion. "And I'm trying to live with it, Dempsey! So, just _please,_ don't make this any harder!"

Her confession had effectively won over his attention. He was almost at the door when he turned his head to face her. Harry had managed to blink away the moisture in her eyes and keep her composure, her upper crust upbringing now becoming her most powerful ally. In her world, emotions didn't belong out in the open.

"Then why the hell are you doin' this?" Dempsey asked, annoyed and baffled in equal measure.

Harry turned to look at him. She felt a wave of sudden anger flaring up, and held on to it like a lifeline.

"You blew up an entire building!" she accused.

"I smoked out a pack of rats!" he growled through clenched teeth. "We couldn't afford to wait for another chance like that! You _know_ it, damn it!"

"You should've waited for backup!"

"There was no time for that!"

"So you just decide to go and compromise an operation that had taken us _months_ to set up!" Harry's rage was increasing at the same rate as their decibels. "That is so typical of you, Dempsey! Taking off like the bloody Lone Ranger!"

"Got us that dip shit Bennet, didn't it?!" he yelled back.

"That's not the point!"

"Then what _is_ the goddamn point?!"

"You don't get it, do you?" she hissed, horrified when she felt her emotions gaining the upper hand.

"No! For _Christ's sake_!" he roared in rage. "I can't keep up with your fucking mind games, Makepeace! Just spit out what the hell you got—"

"I CAN'T WATCH YOU DIE!"

Harry's words drowned every sound and every thought, and the room fell suddenly silent.

 **(TBC...)**


	5. Life's Hard and Then You Die

_Happy Thursday, everyone! Thank you for all the feedback. You guys rock! ;-)_

* * *

 _Part 5: Life's Hard and Then You Die_

Harry slumped on her chair and swivelled it away from him. A single tear escaped the corner of her eye and slid slowly down her cheek. _What had she just done?!_ She cursed her stupidity, clenched her jaw, and managed to hold back the imminent sob that threatened to burst out from deep within her throat. She sat perfectly still, painfully aware of Dempsey's presence behind her.

He remained silent for what felt to Harry like a small eternity, but at least it afforded her enough time to blink back the sudden moisture in her eyes. She heard him step closer and move beside her, but she still refused to glance up, or show any evidence of deeper emotion. _God! First those stupid allegations against his work ethic and now this!_ In the last six hours she had been so utterly unfair to him, she wouldn't be surprised if he just put in a request for a transfer out of sheer aggravation!

Dempsey crouched in front of her using one knee to support his weight. She figured he must be appalled by her pathetic confession. She could almost read his mind: 'Typical broad attitude!' or 'I knew bein' paired up with a woman would eventually come to this!' or 'For christsakes! Quit with the sentimental crap, lady!'

Or, perhaps, he just didn't know what to _do_ or what to _say_ after such a foolish display on her behalf. She really couldn't blame him...

To her surprise, Dempsey simply sighed and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face.

"Harry…"

His voice had been soft, saturated with concern, and had managed to melt something deep inside her.

"Damn it, Dempsey!" she hissed, furiously wiping another rebellious tear off her cheek. "I tried, I _really_ tried!" Harry stood her ground, still refusing to meet his eyes.

Dempsey's hand slithered around her neck, and she felt the gentle tug as he drew her head to his shoulder, pulling her into a semi-hug. At that moment, all the walls came tumbling down and a barren, desolate sob got trapped in the cotton fabric of his t-shirt. The first of many more that followed.

He allowed her to cry for a long, silent while, patiently waiting for her to release all the tension that had been building in her slender body for the past several hours. Strange, in a way, how he could be her solid ground as much as the earthquake that shattered her orderly existence. She felt both incredibly safe and utterly lost under his embrace. He had the ability to strip her of the strength she had laboriously woven over the years with such ease, it was downright unsettling. And that particular vulnerability frightened her. It frightened her to the core. Deep down she knew Dempsey would never hurt her on purpose, but she also suspected he had no clue just _how much_ he potentially could.

Harry's breathing slowed down gradually, and soon she managed to regain her composure to an acceptable degree.

"I should've had your back," she said faintly.

"Hmm?"

Obviously, Dempsey had no idea what she was talking about. But to Makepeace, the crux of her own despair suddenly became crystal clear, striking her like a whip. Joyce had been wrong. The distant words echoed in Harry's mind like the lyrics to a familiar song: _'With you by his side he stands the best chance of staying alive!'_

"I got there too late," she breathed.

"Too late?" As usual, Dempsey was totally clueless. "For what?"

"I _failed_ you!"

She sniffed and blinked tiredly, all of a sudden overtaken by fatigue.

"Don't say that, babe!" Dempsey soothed. "Hey… you didn't do nothin' wrong, ya hear me?!" His use of the double negative often made her ears bleed, but this time it almost made her smile. He kept rubbing her back in slow, calming circles, each swipe making her more relaxed against his larger frame. "'Sides, I'm 'ere! Much as you try getting' rid o' me." Harry heard the smile in his voice, and was unable to hold back a watery chuckle of her own before speaking again in a tight whisper.

"But I'm your _partner_." The simple statement carried enough weight to make her chest tighten. "I knew the risks. I should've stopped you!"

"You couldn't have stopped me," Dempsey assured her. His voice was like warm velvet, its deep timber tugging hard at that precarious vulnerability. "We needed those files. Bennet would've waltzed right out of court without them."

"I can still feel the shockwave."

Harry was still caged inside the awful memory, and not even his reassurances were able to set her free. A shuddery breath escaped her lips and Dempsey pulled her even closer. He turned his face into the golden strands of her hair so intimately it sent a small shiver up her spine. When he spoke again, his breath tickled her ear.

"It ain't an easy job, kid. We gotta learn to live with the possibility that somethin' could happen one day. There's no way 'round it. We're cops."

"I know that!" she gritted, a bit annoyed by him stating the obvious. "I know the risks, Dempsey!"

Yes, she knew perfectly well what it was like to lose a partner. She'd lost several colleagues in recent years. But she had never experienced the raw panic she'd felt during those short, terrifying moments on that crisp, summer morning.

"I wish you'd…"

Harry stopped herself from completing that sentence. She had said too much already and the rational part of her brain was nagging her to keep her mouth shut. The heavy wall began to go up again, erecting the citadel that had been home to her emotions for as long as she could remember. That impenetrable fortress which had only ever succumbed to one person.

"You wish I'd what?" Dempsey asked quietly.

"Forget it," she immediately dismissed. "You couldn't possibly understand."

Dempsey didn't say anything. They had not faced each other once during the entire exchange, and it was difficult for Harry to gauge his silence. He kept holding her, his right arm firmly pressed against her back while his left one rested on her chair. She could feel the mild rise and fall of his chest against her own. They were both leaning at a bit of an awkward angle, but neither of them was apparently willing to let go. And just when she thought the conversation was over, Dempsey spoke again, his voice barely audible.

"It scares the shit outta me too."

Harry wondered whether she had heard the words or merely imagined them.

"It does?" she asked just as quietly.

She felt his soft sigh against her temple. Then, once again, that deep voice reverberated near her ear.

"I couldn't stand it."

Harry let out a dry chuckle. "Because 'it ain't pleasant', right?'" she said, bitterly quoting what he had said to her the year before when she had failed to resign from her position under similar circumstances.

"No," he quickly answered.

Dempsey, still on one knee, grabbed her gently by the upper arms. He winced slightly when his left shoulder screamed in protest, then pulled her far enough apart to be able to face her.

"I lost _you_ last year, Harry." She met his eyes. Harry had never seen such a solemn look in them. Not when discussing a personal matter, anyway. "Hatred don't even _begin_ to describe how I felt. Nothin' mattered no more…" Dempsey clenched his jaw, frowning at the memory. "Would've shot the fuckin' bastard in cold blood if you hadn't stopped me."

She knew he was talking about Coltrane. He'd been so close to going down that rabbit hole it still gave her chills. It was only _now_ that Harry understood the look of shock on his face when he'd turned around. She thought it had been a natural reaction after being caught pointing a gun at an unarmed man's head, or having diverted the shot in the nick of time as he spun around to face her. God! It was all so clear to her now! His surprise hadn't stemmed from guilt, like she had thought. It had been sheer and utter… _relief_!

' _Boy, it's good to see you.'_

Dempsey shifted, the kneeling position becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"You knew exactly what to say to stop me from makin' the biggest mistake of my life, and…"

As his sentenced trailed, so did her curiosity.

" _And_?" she softly prompted.

"Guess I really care about you too, princess," he said sheepishly through a crooked grin.

Harry studied the hazel pool of his eyes carefully, searching for a trace of doubt or jest that proved non-existent. She wanted to reciprocate, to tell him how much she cared too. She wanted to speak those words out loud, but they got stuck somewhere in the foggy recesses of her brain. Dempsey's smile broadened, accepting her silence as a truce without any further demands on his part.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" He winked, using his thumb to wipe the last traces of moisture from her face. "And, hey look, if you really want to—"

Harry's lips landed on his, effectively halting the rest of that statement. They lingered in a tentative kiss that kept Dempsey nailed to the spot. Then, very slowly, they pulled back with a faint, humid sound.

He stared at her in frozen surprise, and Harry wondered whether she might have misunderstood the way in which he might 'care' about her. A sense of dread descended upon her. All these years her career had come first, and this was the second time she had faltered—both times, she noticed, in his presence. Alcohol could be blamed for the last time she had acted so unprofessionally, but there was no excusing her behaviour this time.

Mortified, she was about to blurt out a clumsy apology when Dempsey cupped her cheek and brought his mouth down on hers for a voracious kiss. The spark that ignited in Harry's belly sent an electric shock throughout her entire body. Dempsey's lips were demanding, parting hers to fervently nibble at her bottom lip before moving to the top one.

Harry's hand ventured up to his hair, lacing shy fingers through the dark, thick strands. It didn't take long for that timid hand to turn into a tight fist around a hefty lock. The sensation that was building within her was feral, intense and completely unfamiliar.

Before the rational part of her brain could put the brakes on what was happening, Harry opened up to him, granting their silent wish. Dempsey eagerly accepted her invitation by tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Another sharp volt surged through Harry the instant his tongue grazed hers, teasingly at first, and then a bit more forceful. She bravely followed his lead, meeting him stroke for stroke in a sensual dance that was making her insides melt...

A muffled sound, something between a whimper and a moan, escaped Harry's throat. Dempsey let out a soft chuckle against her mouth, clearly tickled by the unprecedented reaction he'd just caused on Lady Harriet. They reluctantly broke the kiss to look into each other's eyes, their mouths just a breath away. Harry traced the back of her index finger down the purple marks outlining his cheekbone and jaw. She could feel her heart pumping wildly, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen. The past few minutes had felt too surreal... She _had_ to tell him. She owed him that much.

"James, I—"

The door opened suddenly and they both sprung away from each other like shrapnel. A mere second later, Detective Sergeant Chas Jarvis and one of S.I.10's youngest recruits, D.C. Billy Fry, walked into the room completely oblivious to their untimely interruption.

"… are you sure? When was the last time you noticed…?" Chas was saying, and upon seeing his colleagues he greeted them with surprise, "Oh, hi you two!" He then frowned. "Bloody hell, Dempsey! You look like shit, mate!"

"Thanks, Chas," Dempsey replied through a lopsided smile.

"Have you seen a brown leather wallet?" Fry asked with a look of panic on his boyish face.

Harry and Dempsey shook their heads and mumbled an absent 'no' in unison, exchanging a questioning glance as if to confirm their answer. Makepeace noticed how her partner was casually gripping the backrest of the swivel chair at waist level, and she couldn't help but blush and hold back a smile.

"Oh, there it is!" Fry beamed, picking the wallet up from a desk not two feet from where Dempsey and Makepeace were now standing. "Aren't you coming?" he asked without grasping the absurdity of the situation. "You are missing one wicked do!"

Chas, who was a bit more perceptive, noticed the odd vibe between his colleagues. "Let's go, Fry," he urged the rookie, and practically dragged him out of the office. "See you guys later," he almost smiled.

Alone once again, Harry and Dempsey remained quiet for a few long, awkward seconds before bursting into a wave of nervous laughter.

"Well, Sergeant," Dempsey said in between chuckles. "Not sure I'm really up for a _wicked do_ right now. How 'bout you?"

Harry managed to giggle out a feeble 'better call it a day, Lieutenant' in reply.

As their laughter gradually subsided, Dempsey kept watching her through thick lashes.

"It's nice to see ya smilin' again, 'arry."

She blushed and lowered her gaze. Making out with her partner in the office had to be one of the stupidest, most foolish things she had ever done. She couldn't believe it had actually happened. So much for dispelling all those blasted rumours!

But, if it was so wrong, how come it had it felt so… _right_?

Of course, the big elephant in the room was still there, dancing between them. This last case had shaken her to the core, and the thought of Dempsey putting his life on the line on a future assignment still terrified her. But he was right: the risk of death came together with the gun and the badge. It was a packaged deal.

 _Life is hard and then you die…_

If he were only a bit more sensible and methodical! If he only thought things through before jumping into action! If he could just stop taking unnecessary chances! If he _only_! But then, she realised, if all those things were true, _he_ wouldn't be Dempsey, _her_ Dempsey. That same Dempsey she knew and...

She picked up the signed form from her desk, skimming over it one last time before looking up at him. Dempsey's eyes were serene, but his expression said it all.

 _So what's it gonna be, princess?_

"It was rather selfish of me," she confessed.

"How 'bout I promise to always make sure you got my back before doin' anythin' crazy."

A faint smile formed on Harry's lips at his wretched attempt at a compromise.

"I guess I can try to live with that."

"That's my girl!" he grinned, and then with palpable hesitation, he added: "Hey, why dontcha come over to my place? I know it's late, and it's been a long day, but I could really use the company, y'know. And," he raised his hand, anticipating her objection, "before you dismiss the idea right off the bat, I _promise_ to be on my best behaviour."

Harry was a tad disappointed by that promise, but regarded him through narrowed eyes pretending not to trust him. It was obvious that they were both way too exhausted to let their lust get the better of them, but then again, it's not as if they'd planned for what had happened between them just a few minutes before.

"You should really get some rest," she finally said with honest concern. "I'm afraid you're about to pass out at any moment."

"Okaaay," he smiled wickedly. "You better drive me home and put me to bed, then."

Harry chuckled. "You are incorrigible!"

But there was a valid point to his suggestion. He was in no condition to drive and besides, she was a bit hesitant to leave him alone when he really belonged in hospital.

"Are you even taking anything for the pain?"

"Nah! I can take it," he dismissed. "Bruisin' looks worse than it feels, 'n the shoulder…" He moved his left arm to show how fine he was only to prove the complete opposite. He groaned a nasty curse under his breath turning a few shades paler in a matter of seconds. Harry winced in sympathy and his grimace turned into an apologetic grin. "Guess keepin' it still wouldn't be such a bad idea either…"

"I'll tell you what's an even _better_ idea," she sighed, grabbing her jacket. "An x-ray! Okay, Dempsey. Let's go."

"Where?" he frowned, suspiciously.

"To hospital!" she informed with finality. "End of discussion! And, don't roll your eyes at me!"

"Okay, mom!" he pouted.

Harry noticed the curving of his lips as he tried to conceal a smile. Dempsey opened the door, placed his hand on the small of her back and gently guided her out of the office.

 **(TBC…)**


	6. Epilogue: An Unwritten Future

_Epilogue: An Unwritten Future_

Harry drove down the narrow country road at moderate speed. It was a gorgeous summer day in the countryside, with about a hundred shades of green exploding all the way to where the eye could see against a cerulean backdrop painted over the cloudless sky. The morning back in London had been a bit chilly, but as the sun rose, so did the mercury, and by noon she found herself driving with the top down on her Ford Cabrio convertible while enjoying the warm breeze on her skin.

It had been a strange night to say the least. She'd taken Dempsey to a private hospital in order to get the x-ray taken on his left arm sometime before the turn of the century and, as she had expected, the waiting time at Lister on a Thursday night had been minimal. Ronald Grayson, the emergency doctor on staff, had even been able to review the results with them shortly after the x-rays were taken, informing them of the hairline fracture in Dempsey's upper humerus and, given the symptoms, a possible tear in the rotator cuff. The treatment consisted on lots of rest, wearing a sling around his left arm to relieve the muscle from undue strain, and prescription strength pain medication—which her partner would most likely fail to take.

By the time they got to Dempsey's flat it was already past one o'clock in the morning and they were both beyond drained. Harry agreed to spend the night only because she didn't trust herself to stay awake on the drive back home. Unfortunately, she'd left the overnight bag she was planning to take to Winfield Hall at her place. Dempsey brushed it off as a minor problem, claiming she could find whatever she needed in his bathroom. Harry was about to point out that there were certain female items unlikely to be found in a bachelor's pad but, knowing her partner, decided not to open that rather inappropriate can of worms.

And, despite Dempsey's insistence that she took the bed while he slept on the sofa, Harry did not find it proper to take him up on that offer. Firstly, he needed the best rest he could get. And secondly, if she were to be completely honest with herself, her hesitation had a bit more to do with the fact that she would find it rather odd to sleep in _his_ bed, in between _his_ sheets, embraced by _his_ scent…

No, things were too damn confusing at the moment to push that particular envelope.

In the end, Dempsey's exhaustion won over his exasperation and sense of chivalry. He disappeared into the bedroom only to emerge less than two minutes later, arms replete with overnight gear. He dropped a light fleece blanket and a pillow on the sofa, and then gave Harry a blue NYPD t-shirt and a leer that screamed he caved to her demands, but only reluctantly. She answered with a wan smile and a mild shrug, and followed him into the bathroom, where he pointed her to a stack of clean towels and told her through a wicked smile she was welcome to take a shower (but, keeping his earlier promise, did not make any further advances). He even handed her a brand new toothbrush.

Harry chose to ignore the possible reasons why he'd keep a set of toothbrushes still in the package readily available in his cabinet.

After making sure that all her needs had been covered, Dempsey stepped out of the bathroom to give her some privacy. Once alone, she washed up a bit, brushed her teeth and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her pallor was a bit pale, and she was beginning to show faint circles under her eyes, but other than that, she felt better than she had earlier in the day.

 _Nothing like a good cry to ease one's troubles_ , she thought bitterly.

Dempsey had been surprisingly sweet and understanding, but the even seesaw that was their partnership had now tilted, putting an ugly dent in her otherwise cool and professional front. Harry was unable to placate the twinge of embarrassment that tugged at her after such an appalling display. To top things off, she had to seal the most humiliating moment of her career by locking lips with him. With her _partner_ of all people!

 _Well done, Harry! As if things hadn't been complex enough between the two of you already!_

The problem, she realized, wasn't so much the kiss itself, but rather, the uncertainty it had left behind, the feelings it had uncovered, the longing that still burned within her...

She let out a heavy sigh as she changed out of her clothes and into the cotton t-shirt, which happened to be about three sizes too big on her. The sleeves draped down to her forearms and the lower hem fell half way down her thighs, making it look more like a nightgown. But at least it was soft, and it smelled a bit like soap, a bit like Dempsey...

And there it was again—that strange twinge of exhilaration that had been stirring within her ever since they left the office.

When she walked into the living room she found her partner throwing the backrest pillows of the sofa on top of the bench press in the corner. He turned to her to say something, but whatever it was got lost somewhere between his mind and his lips the moment she walked through the door. He froze, his eyes scanning her frame way too slowly to be considered casual. Harry felt sorely underdressed all of a sudden. The t-shirt was as mundane as they come, although judging by his expression, she may as well have been wearing one of the sexy silk numbers from her lingerie collection. The burning in her cheeks intensified the moment she caught a glimpse of the raw desire that flashed across his eyes.

He tore his gaze away with a mild grimace, lowering his head and running his right hand across his neck in a gesture of painful restraint.

 _Ok, who was the gent standing before her, and what had he done to her cocky partner?_

"What?" she sang innocently, looking down at the white lettering on the tee. "Wouldn't the boys down at the precinct approve?"

 _Dear God, had she just_ flirted _with him? What had got into her?!_

It took a fleeting moment for Dempsey to get over the shock, and for his bad boy grin to return with a vengeance. He placed his hands low on his hips, his hazel eyes brimming with that mischievous, slightly dangerous glint.

"Get your ass under the blanket, _now_!"

His order had been punctuated by a soft chuckle, but there had been a raspy quality to his voice that had made her a bit weak at the knees. She tried her best to appear solemn, but was unable to hold back a smile as she walked casually past him, and installed herself on his sofa which, to her surprise, proved to be much more comfortable than she had anticipated.

They hadn't talked at all about what had happened earlier at the office. Not surprisingly, the tension between them could be cut with a knife. It was not that they didn't feel comfortable around each other, but now every touch, every look and every smile was loaded with an emotion neither of them knew exactly how to address. Add that to the fact they were both about to pass out from fatigue, and any imminent conversation about where their relationship was headed was best to be put on hold.

Dempsey sat on the edge of the couch near her feet, making sure the blanket was properly tucked between the bottom cushions.

"Sure you don't wanna take the bed?" he asked for the umpteenth time. His lips curled into a half smile indicating he already knew the answer to the question, that he didn't quite get, but accepted her stubbornness, and that he found the whole back and forth on the subject rather comical considering the circumstances. "I don't mind sleepin' on the couch. Wouldn't be the first time."

"I'm sure." Harry returned the smile.

The intrusion of a thought, however, made it fade slowly, replaced by a mild frown.

"Somethin' wrong?" he asked softly.

"No, it's just…" Harry raked her hand through her hair and exhaled. "It was so silly of me to fill out that stupid report. I feel like I owe you an apology…"

"You don't owe me nothin'."

Their eyes held for a long moment—one of understanding and mutual respect. All transgressions forgiven and forgotten. She offered him a faint nod of appreciation, and tried to conceal a yawn with the reverse of her hand.

Dempsey gave her knee a friendly squeeze over the covers, whispered a tired ' _night, princess'_ and got up. Her head was comfortably resting on the pillow and her eyes were already drooping as she mumbled a weak _'good night'_ back. She was sure she had fallen asleep before he had gone to bed, because her last memory was of him shutting the blinds of the living room, which prevented the onslaught of sunshine to hit her full blast once morning arrived.

Harry slept soundly, submerged in a dreamless slumber, all the tension from the previous day melting away in the dark of night. It was well past sunrise when she slowly began to stir and finally opened her eyes. She felt a bit disoriented upon waking, but then, as she realized where she was and images of the last several hours began flooding her mind, a stream of gradual heat rose up to her face and spread to the rest of her body.

Dempsey was still fast asleep in the bedroom by the time she got up and dressed. She padded quietly to his semi-opened door and sneaked a peek inside. He was snoring lightly, sprawled face down on the bed with his arm draped over a pillow as if it were a lover, while his head rested directly on the mattress, his dark hair in complete disarray.

Clad only in boxer shorts, he had managed to kick the sheets all the way down to his calves, where they bunched up in a messy tangle around his legs. Harry found herself admiring the lean form of his body, the robust shape of his arms, the breadth of his shoulders... While he wasn't exactly bulky, that position made his back muscles taut and clearly defined.

Another sudden rush of heat flushed through her and, feeling a bit like a voyeur, decided to softly step out of his bedroom and close the door.

She carefully folded the blanket and t-shirt, neatly placing them on the sofa next to the pillow, then looked around for a piece of paper and a pen, which she found on his corner bureau where she sat to write him a brief note before exiting his place with the utmost stealth.

The car tires crunched under the cobbled stone road that lead to Winfield Hall. The old brick stone mansion stood tall at the end of the tree lined pathway. Harry took in a deep breath, filling up her lungs with the familiar scent of recently cut grass and hay from the stables nearby.

 _She was home!_

She pulled the car into the driveway and thought of Dempsey.

 _How would she feel the next time one of their cases got a bit too dangerous for her comfort? Would she be able to handle it? Had it been a mistake to cross that physical line? Had it been inevitable? Where would they go from here?_

A blizzard of questions hit her all at once, and she couldn't really answer any of them. They'd just have to wait and see. Maybe she shouldn't have taken off without first talking things through with him. But then again, last night notwithstanding, when had they _ever_ talked things through?

For now, Harry just needed to keep her distance. It was the only thing she could do to clear her head and reclaim some objectivity, not only as a cop, but also when it came to her personal life. She still had trouble believing the events of the previous night. Was still surprised at how lovely Dempsey's lips had felt on hers—how intense yet gentle, rough yet caring, a million juxtapositions all rolled into one _unbelievable_ kiss…

Harry got out of the car with a smile that seemed to burst right out of her soul. She looked up at her family home and, for a long moment, felt the same juvenile excitement she'd felt when she was fourteen and her first crush had smiled at her in French class.

She laughed at the silly thought, shook her head in disbelief, and called her dad's name as she entered the mansion.

 **[The End]**

Well, that's it for this one! Thank you everybody for all the comments, follows and faves. I'm really humbled by all your opinions and feedback given the calibre of writers and stories in this fandom—the bar is set really high!


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